


Starving Faithful

by asroarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Body Worship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Kink Meme, Pining, Pregnancy Kink, Protective!Bellamy, Smut, butler!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asroarke/pseuds/asroarke
Summary: Clarke reaches over and grabs his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. He ducks his head, embarrassed by the blush forming on his cheeks. When he looks up again, those bright eyes are gazing back at him, full of warmth despite everything. He could get lost in those eyes. “You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”It’s not a question. Not really. It’s a statement of fact. Bellamy’s devoted to her in a way that scares him. He’s no stranger to wanting a woman. There had been a few when he was younger, though he isn’t proud of that. But no one had made him want to fall to his knees quite like Clarke. She came into this estate, with those wide, innocent eyes, and all he wanted was to wrap her in his arms and shield her from her husband. He might have been able to pretend it was just his protective urges, but then she whispered that soft "I need you" after the first night Dante hit her, and Bellamy knew he was gone for her.For the Kink Meme prompt: Clarke was forced unto an arranged marriage with an abusive older (impotent) man who beats her when "she" fails to conceive. Perhaps her butler Bellamy can help.





	Starving Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started this during the Kink Meme but never got around to posting. Then I finished it but forgot about it. And while I was going through my WIPs on my laptop, I found it again. So, here y'all go!

The fourth Mrs. Wallace is young… too young. Barely eighteen and married off to a monster. Bellamy hadn’t thought Mr. Wallace would take another wife so soon after his third passed, but he probably should have suspected it. Dante is consumed by his need to produce an heir, a quest he has been on since his only son, Cage, was killed during the war.

This marriage had been quick. Only two weeks of courtship before a proposal was made. He heard from the other servants that Mrs. Griffin was desperate to marry her daughter off after a scandal. So, in less than a month, the two of them were wed.

The new Mrs. Wallace is quite the beauty. Long, golden curls, bright blue eyes, a pleasant smile always on her lips. Bellamy has to be careful not to stare at her for too long, though sometimes she catches him and grins knowingly. And she is kind, not just to her husband, but to the servants too. Her husband is blind to the staff in his home. They only exist to him when he needs something. But Mrs. Wallace goes out of her way to talk to each of them, especially Bellamy. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t inquire about his sister and ask how he is doing. She acts like they’re friends, or as close to friends as the lady of the house and her butler can be.

Her unbridled cheerfulness lasted about three months, which was how long Mr. Wallace could be patient. When Clarke didn’t get pregnant yet again, the entire estate echoed with his screams and her cries. She didn’t leave her bedroom for days after. It only got worse each month. It breaks Bellamy’s heart each time he passes Mrs. Wallace’s room at night and overhears her praying to get pregnant. She won’t. Everyone in this estate knows that. It isn’t her fault, of course. Dante was only able to have the one child with his first wife and hasn’t gotten any of the following wives pregnant. Yet he took his anger out on each of them, and Clarke is just his newest victim.

After a year, the routine is set. Bellamy hears the screams, and that’s when he starts boiling water. By the time Mr. Wallace slams her bedroom door shut behind him, the tea is ready. Bellamy always has Wallace’s hat and coat ready by the stairs, which he always grabs without so much as looking at Bellamy before leaving. Usually, not to return for a few days, or however long it takes for his anger to subside. He waits until he can hear the horses trotting away and then makes his way upstairs.

Clarke is already in bed this time, heaving into her pillow. The pins have all been taken out of her hair, letting her tresses spread across the sheets.

“Mrs. Wallace, I have your tea,” Bellamy whispers as he slips into her room. She sits up slowly, as if her entire body aches. Her eyes are puffy and red, and it looks like he struck her across the face this time. “I’ll go get ice,” he tells her as soon as she takes the cup from him.

“Thank you.” He winces as soon as he hears her normally warm and soft voice. It’s hoarse now, though from crying or screaming he isn’t quite sure.

He’s tense as he makes his way downstairs. A few of the other servants spot him, but none of them say a word. They know Bellamy is barely holding in his anger, one of them had to hold him back that first night so he didn’t storm up the stairs and intervene.

When he comes back, her cup is empty and discarded on her nightstand. She doesn’t say a word as he approaches her, just gets comfortable on her pillow and tilts her head towards him. He loathes the way she winces when he presses the ice to her cheek. Clarke is far too young to know this kind of cruelty. He often dreams of stealing her away from here and taking her somewhere he can keep her safe, though it’s just a fantasy. They’re both trapped here, and the only way for this to stop is if Clarke got pregnant. But that would take a miracle.

Clarke’s hand grazes his as she takes hold of the ice, and her featherlight touch makes the hairs on his arm stand up.

“What else can I do?”

“Sit with me for a moment.” Clarke pats the bed beside her. She forces a soft smile, and he mirrors her expression.

“Of course.” She often asked him to stay. Sometimes to talk, other times to just not be alone. And he’s always more than happy to stay with her. He would sit by her side all day if that were enough to make her happy.

“I’m still not pregnant,” she tells him, and he nods. “And I won’t be, will I? Because he’s impotent.”

“He had one child,” Bellamy offers. Clarke sighs. She knows as well as he does that Cage was born decades ago and the odds of Mr. Wallace producing another heir are slim. “I never know what to tell you. I want to be hopeful for you but—”

“I know.” Clarke reaches over and grabs his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. He ducks his head, embarrassed by the blush forming on his cheeks. When he looks up again, those bright eyes are gazing back at him, full of warmth despite everything. He could get lost in those eyes. “You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

It’s not a question. Not really. It’s a statement of fact. Bellamy’s devoted to her in a way that scares him. He’s no stranger to wanting a woman. There had been a few when he was younger, though he isn’t proud of that. But no one had made him want to fall to his knees quite like Clarke. She came into this estate, with those wide, innocent eyes, and all he wanted was to wrap her in his arms and shield her from her husband. He might have been able to pretend it was just his protective urges, but then she whispered that soft _I need you_ after the first night Dante hit her, and Bellamy knew he was gone for her.

“Anything,” he promises as his thumb glides over her tiny wrist. He hates himself for enjoying her touch, knowing the only reason he has it is because she’s hurting.

“Promise?”

“Mrs. Wallace, what is it?” She bites down on her bottom lip, and he curses himself for being so transfixed by the sight. But her lips look so soft and warm and he can’t help but long to feel them for himself.

She sits up, only wincing slightly this time, and sets the ice to the side. “Help me get pregnant,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“What? No, Mrs. Wallace, I—”

“Clarke,” she corrects.

“Clarke.” He knows it’s dangerous to just say her name aloud, but it slips out so beautifully. It taunts him, letting him imagine a different life where he could have her. “We can’t. You can’t. Your husband—”

“Dante won’t know,” she assures. Her soft fingers trail over his, gentle and enticing. He should pull away, put a stop to this, but he’s helpless to resist her. “No one will know. Just us.”

“I don’t—"

“Please,” she begs. “I need you.”

She must know what those words do to him. She must have seen it in his eyes the first time she uttered them. Three words are all it takes to possess him. They speak to a longing he has had since he was a small boy, the desire to be needed and wanted. And the way Clarke looks at him now, scared and lost… it pulls at his chest, not leaving him alone until he pulls her into his embrace.

Clarke buries her face into his white shirt, a quiet sob breaking against the fabric. He rocks her a little, trying to push her proposal from his mind. But it won’t leave him alone because she’s right. Dante would stop the second Clarke announces she’s pregnant. He’d be too scared to touch her in fear that she might lose his child. If Bellamy could get Clarke pregnant, she would be protected. Safe from harm.

She whimpers as he untangles himself from her but doesn’t say a word of protest as Bellamy heads to the door. He peers into the hallway. All the candles have been blown out, meaning all the servants have gone to bed for the night. Quietly, he pulls Clarke’s door shut again and locks the door.

When he looks back at her, it feels as though the air has left the room. She sits there, frozen, her teary eyes wide as she watches him. Her curls have fallen onto one shoulder, the one her nightgown had slipped from, leaving it bare.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asks, and she nods. “With me?”

“Yes,” she says. Bellamy sucks in a shaky breath before walking to the bed. He toes off his boots as Clarke pushes herself from the bed. Before he can say anything, she steps up to him, only leaving a few inches between their lips.

He pushes the hair off her shoulder, letting his calloused fingers touch her creamy skin. Her eyes don’t leave his, and he loves how they soften as soon as he touches her. Slowly, her fingers pull at the bow at the top of her white nightgown. If he were a better man, he’d look away. But his eyes stay transfixed on her fingers, holding his breath as he waits for her to expose more of her skin to him. He’s just moments away from feasting his eyes on the very body that haunts his dreams. The swell of her breasts that he thinks of late at night while rubbing himself in the dark. The tight cunt he tries to imitate by tightening his fist around his cock.

And with just a flick of her wrist, her gown comes undone. She pushes it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground with a light thump. Now, she’s naked before him, offering her beautiful body to her servant. His eyes fall first to her breasts. Her nipples are hard and rosy pink. Clarke gasps when his trails his index finger over one.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to her. So beautiful that all his thoughts of her before seem crude in comparison. Not holy enough for the real thing.

He barely touches her as he scans the rest of her body. The soft curves make his cock stir, but the smattering of bruises marring her perfect skin sets something aflame in his chest.

But those bruises will no longer exist if Bellamy makes love to her and gives her his child. And that’s what Clarke needs. Her eyes look worried, so he cups her cheek with his hand. She leans into him, pressing her hardened nipples against his thin shirt. His other hand slides around her bare waist, just inches from her plump ass.

“Please,” she whispers to him, and he lets his thumb trail over her beautiful lips. “Give me your baby, Bellamy.” It takes all the restraint in him not to crash his lips onto her after hearing those gorgeous words. He’s gentle, oh so gentle, as he presses a featherlight kiss to her lips. And then another. And then one to each of her cheeks, being careful with the one Dante struck.

“Why don’t you lie down for me?” he hums.

He helps her onto the bed, careful only to touch her waist. Clarke just seems so fragile, like she might break if he doesn’t handle her with complete care. Bellamy sets her head on a pillow to make her comfortable, and his chest burns when she looks up at him with confused eyes. She isn’t used to this, and why would she be? Her husband doesn’t seem like a man capable of being gentle.

Bellamy pulls away to tug off his shirt, and once it’s tossed to the side, he looks back at the beauty before him. Her creamy skin nearly blends in to the white blanket beneath her. Clarke’s smooth legs are parted now, a silent invitation.

He sits on the bed, letting his hand slide up her waist and across her stomach. When he reaches her chest, the pads of his fingers trail over clusters of bruises beginning to form. Instead of saying anything about them, he gave each of them a soft kiss.

“Bellamy,” she whispers as he kisses one on her shoulder. When he looks up, those piercing blue eyes are on him. She tilts her head towards him, her eyes falling to his lips.

He meets them, kissing harder than he did last time. And he doesn’t leave her lips as he settles himself over her. Clarke’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him close to her.

“Are we going to… do it now?” she asks, breathless as he kisses her unmarred cheek.

“Does your husband not kiss you first?” The words slip out of his mouth before the can think better of it. She looks up at him with a confused expression. Dante doesn’t, clearly. More likely he takes care of himself and then leaves, perhaps not even taking the time to make sure she is ready for him. “I like taking this slow, if that’s alright?”

“Alright,” she whispers before tilting her head up for another kiss.

He stops just shy of her lips. “Do you like being kissed?”

“By you, yes.” So, he kisses her. Takes his time on her lips, slowly working his tongue between them until it makes its home inside her warm mouth. Bellamy swallows her quiet moans happily, returning them with his own. Next, his lips trail over to her cheek. He presses a short, chaste kiss to the adorable mole above her lip. He moves to her neck, savoring how her breathing grows heavier with each wet kiss to her throat.

When he reaches her breasts, he places a gentle kiss to the top of each pink nipple and watches her face as he does. Her lips part with a quiet sigh, her eyes seem a bit dazed. Bellamy’s mouth engulfs one of them, letting his tongue flick at her hardened peak.

“Oh,” she squeaks as he palms the other breast. His lips suck at her nipple, but he keeps his eyes on the breast in his hand, watching how it practically overflows. Her pale, perfect globe spilling out of his dark, calloused hand is too beautiful to look away from. It’s as if her breasts were made for his hands, made to be his.

Bellamy gets comfortable between her legs, taking his time lazily lapping and sucking at her breasts. Wet sounds and her quiet moans fill the room. Clarke fidgets her legs beneath him, wanting friction yet not quite sure how to ask for it. With a sigh, Bellamy kisses down her sternum to her soft stomach… the stomach where their baby will grow.

He presses a slower, softer kiss just above her bellybutton, and lets his mind imagine how she would look pregnant. The larger stomach, her body plump and carrying his child. He’d take such good care of her. Breakfast in bed, massages when she was sore, caring for her when the morning sickness began. He’d wait on her hand and foot, anything for her and his baby.

Her fingers wrap themselves in his hair, holding him in place as he pressed kiss after kiss to her flat stomach. “Bellamy,” she hums like a song. His name sounds so beautiful falling off her lips.

Clarke doesn’t stop him when he settles between her legs. She just watches in confusion, her eyes widening as Bellamy brings his lips to her clit. All it takes is a lazy roll of the tongue and Clarke’s head falls back in a quiet moan.

She’s wet from the thorough attention he gave her breasts. And the taste of her makes him growl. He keeps kissing and licking her clit while his fingers rub over her slit. Clarke gasps and then slaps her hand over her mouth right as Bellamy slips a finger into her. She’s tight, so achingly tight. Tighter than his fist ever was when he would stroke himself and think of her.

“How does this feel, sweetheart?” he whispers, glancing up from between her thighs to see Clarke watching him with hooded eyes.

“Good,” she chokes out before covering her mouth again. He gives her clit another little kiss and savors her tiny gasp.

Bellamy takes his time pushing her pussy lips apart, licking every inch of her as his finger presses further into her with each thrust.

The second finger is a stretch, but she takes it well, nodding eagerly as her eyes tear up. “Should I stop?” he asks, panicked that he hurt her. But she shakes her head, so he continues on slowly working his way up to pumping his fingers in and out of her tight cunt.

Clarke pulls her pillow over her face as she comes, muffling her beautiful moans as her hips grind into his face. Bellamy pins down her hips, lapping up her arousal. He keeps pumping his fingers into her, feeling her cunt flutter and pulse around him.

When she finally removes the pillow from her face, she’s breathless with tears streaming down her face. Her bottom lip quivers as she looks at him, and finally she whispers, “Would you kiss me again?”

Bellamy sighs in relief as he crawls over her and presses his lips to hers. “You’re alright?”

“Yes,” she breathes, cracking a smile before kissing him again. Bellamy settles over her as they slowly kiss again. But their gentle kisses grow hungry. Clarke pulls at his hair as he grinds his erection into her thigh. “Please,” she finally says into his mouth.

“Please, what?”

“Give me your child.” How she manages to sound so innocent yet hungry he doesn’t understand. Bellamy growls into her mouth, the image of filling her up and getting her pregnant too potent.

It takes all his willpower to pull off her, and her sweet little whine goes straight to his cock. He can feel her sweet blue eyes on him as he undoes his pants. When he finally pulls his cock out, it’s throbbing with need.

Clarke blushes when he catches her staring at it, a surprisingly innocent gesture coming from the girl who begged him to get her pregnant. Bellamy climbs back over her, his heart pounding. Clarke lies back down, spreading her legs wide to present her glistening cunt to him.

Bellamy fists his cock a few times before lining himself up with her entrance. His eyes flicker up to meet hers, and she nods. “Ask me again, love,” he whispers.

“Will you get me pregnant?” she asks, somehow more nervous than the first time. Bellamy lets his eyes fall shut, savoring that sweet sound. “Please, I need you. I need your baby.”

It’s too much, and he presses inside her with a quiet grunt. She’s still so tight. Her velvety walls squeeze around him perfectly, far better than any of his fantasies could conceive.

“You need me to give you a baby,” he growls as he bottoms out.

Clarke’s bottom lip is quivering as she nods, and he can see the tears forming in her eyes as she tries to lean up for a kiss. Bellamy slowly thrusts in and out of her a few more times before lowering himself enough so that he may give her that kiss.

It’s a messy kiss. Clarke is panting into his mouth in rhythm with his thrusts, and Bellamy is too drunk on her to keep it from getting sloppy. He just lets himself drape over her, like the protector he is, as he buries his cock into her.

There’s a small voice in his head reminding him that this is wrong. Her husband would kill them both if he found out. Clarke isn’t his.

But Bellamy is hers. His mistress’ devoted servant. The lady of the house’s quiet protector. Worshipping her body the way he is meant to. Finally finding a way to free her from her husband’s cruelty. Giving her the love she craves while he breeds her.

“I’m going to,” he promises between kisses. “I’m going to give you my baby.”

“Our baby,” she whispers, her dazed eyes fluttering towards him. Clarke grabs his hand and lowers it to her stomach. “Our baby.”

The tenderness in her voice is too much. Too warm and loving. Bellamy buries his face into her neck and spills out inside her. He growls into her skin, seeing her beautiful, plump, pregnant body in his mind. Her supple breasts growing with milk to feed his baby. Her stomach so large she can hardly walk and begs him to carry her. Her radiant smile as her hand slides over her swollen belly.

He lies there for a while, not wanting to leave the warmth of her tight cunt. When he does pull out, his chest pangs as he sees his come slide out of her. It’s irrational, but Bellamy still pushes it back inside her with his fingers.

Clarke’s head is back on her pillow, her eyes shut and her lips forming an easy smile. He presses a kiss to her cheek, and she gives him a happy little hum. If he’s quiet, he knows she will drift off to sleep. So, he’s careful as he climbs off the bed. Bellamy tiptoes around the bed, propping her head up with an extra pillow and covering her in blankets.

He’s halfway through getting dressed when Clarke whispers, “Bellamy?”

He’s at her side in an instant. “Yes?”

She turns her head in his direction yet doesn’t open her eyes. “Do you think I’ll be pregnant?”

“I hope so. We can keep trying.” Sleepy and satisfied, Clarke lets out a sigh and gets comfortable again. Bellamy gives her a quick kiss and lets his hand rest over her blankets, hovering just above her soon to be swollen belly. “I am going to give you a baby, love.”


End file.
